“Nila…”

I want you, too. I want to tell you everything. I want to fucking run away and never look back…

“Well, this is an interesting sight.”

Nila shot upright. “Oh, my God.”

Yanking my hand from her jeans, I shoved her behind my chair. “I told you I had a fucking meeting,” I growled.

She fumbled with nerves, struggling to do up her trousers. Her eyes narrowed at our guest, anxiety waking off her in droves.

For once, I didn’t mind. I rather enjoyed her flustered need. Her unsettled confusion.

Spinning my chair around, so the man in the doorway wouldn’t see, I raised the finger that’d been inside her and ever so slowly, sucked it clean. Her taste exploded on my tongue. I could’ve come right there if we didn’t have an audience.

Nila stumbled, her hands crossing over her chest to hide the sheer camisole and bra.

“I have a feeling I interrupted something. However, I’m not going to be the gentleman and say sorry. I’m just going to stand right here and wait.” The man laughed quietly. “By all means, continue if you must. I’m a patient guy.”

Nila looked over my head, swallowing desire and frustration. “Not at all. I was just leaving.”

Moving fast, I latched my damp fingers around her wrist and tugged to whisper in her ear. “Whatever you just started…it’s not over.”

Her eyes widened as I let her go.

I spun back to face my guest. “Hello, Killian.”

Nila sneaked forward to snag her jumper. I chuckled under my breath. How could she be so sensually confident one moment and so flummoxed the next? “Nila Weaver, seeing as you delayed me, please say hello to my business meeting.”

The man in the doorway nodded, filling the frame with his large bulk and brown leather jacket. The stitching of his MC glittered with the words ‘Prez’ and ‘Pure Corruption.’

Nila blushed, slipping into her top. “Pleasure to meet you…”

“Kill,” the man said, stalking into the room and holding out his hand. A smirk spread his lips, remembering what he’d interrupted. “On second thought, perhaps I won’t give you my hand. I don’t know what you’ll do with it.”

Nila turned a deeper pink. Her eyes hit the floor.

I laughed.

Serves her right for unsettling me.

Standing, I crossed the room and shook hands with the president of Pure Corruption. Standing taller than me with muscles bigger than Kestrel and black hair brushing his jaw, Killian screamed violence and influence. He wasn’t someone you messed with.

His huge grip clasped mine. “Nice to see you again, Hawk.”

Nila sized him up, interest glowing beneath her shyness.

It pissed me off, but I wasn’t worried. It was well-known that Arthur Killian of the Florida Pures didn’t go after women. He wasn’t gay, but for some reason he avoided the opposite sex.

Kill dropped my hand, crossing his arms with a creak of leather. “Now that the intros are out of the way…shall we begin?”

I COULDN’T TAKE my eyes off the new intruder.

I wanted to back away to become as invisible as possible.

The entire atmosphere of the room changed the moment he’d stepped inside. Jethro was sleek and cool—as flawless as ice and as deadly as poison, but Arthur Killian was like a tank. A weapon reeking of biker oil, sunshine, and fearlessness. My body completely belonged to Jethro, but I couldn’t deny Killian’s massive arms, untamed hair, and glowing emerald eyes didn’t flutter my stomach.

Coming toward me, his clothing rustled as he held out his hand. “No matter how much I fear for my hand’s safety, I can’t ignore such a stunning woman.” The air hummed with fierce intensity.

My gaze flickered to Jethro as I looped my fingers with his. Jethro stiffened but didn’t retaliate. My cheeks burned as Killian’s grip wrapped tightly around mine.

He was so warm.

An oven compared to Jethro. And his eyes. Oh, my God, I’d never seen such green, green eyes.

“It’s not your hand that should be worried.”

Only yours, Kite. I shot the silent message to Jethro.

Killian laughed. It sounded like a rumbling earthquake. He shook his head almost sadly, glancing over his shoulder at Jethro before looking back at me. “In that case, I don’t know if I should be jealous of Hawk’s hand or regretful for my own.” His deep voice was rhythmic—an accented drawl different to Jethro’s crisp English loquacity.

“You’re American?”

Kill took a step back, running a hand through his jaw-length dark hair. He looked wild, ferocious, but with a brokenness about him speaking of unpredictability.

What hurt him? Or who?

The vulnerability hiding beneath his rough exterior called to the nurturing side of me. I wanted to protect him from something. But what? There was nothing in the world that could hurt this mountain of a man.

Kill nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Born and bred in Florida.”

“What are you doing so far from home?”

His large boots clopped across the metal floor as he sat on the cow-print couch by the door. Bright spotlights shone behind him, casting him in a fuzzy silhouette. His eyes narrowed, tone turned dark. “Business, mainly. And new connections.”

The way he said it didn’t sound just about business.

I’d been around dangerous men enough to recognise one with a vendetta. “And Jethro is going to help you with that?”